Life still goes on
by BBCRULES
Summary: Second reunion. I don't think John would punch or curse or yell the first time he sees Sherlock's return. Rather he'd stop interacting with the detective until he accepts the reality. This is connected to my other stories but can be read by itself, I hope. Thank you for reading and please review's welcome;)
1. Chapter 1

So the sets are being assembled again for the season III? OMG! A little bit of revision because I wanted to keep Sherlock in character...(Any better ideas?)

Reviews and comments are very welcome - it makes me motivated. English is my second language so it also helps grow my confidence. Thank you for reading.

******For those who don't want to read other stories******

- I don't think John would punch or curse or yell the first time he sees Sherlock's return. Rather he'd stop interacting with the detective until he accepts the reality. In my story, John was reunited with his friend at the pool; hospitalized for four months; and briefly visited - actually forced to visit by Sherock - 221B on the day of his release. Yet he walked out on Sherlock that day. A few months later, the doctor finally let all of his emotions out at his friend.

******For those who are going to read other stories: timeline-based******

shorter version) Periodic table of Elements - Sebastian Moran's Journal chapter 3, 4 + 26 wonders - Life still goes on

full version) At the morgue -The Fall - Surprise - Christmas Surprise - Sebstian Moran's Journal (full) + Periodic Table + 26 Wonders - Life Still Goes On

* * *

**June, three months after Johns' release from the hospital**.

"Good evening. Mr. Smith. Can I help you?"

The unexpected visit from his landlord made John nervous. John was just back from his work- on his way home, he got a text from Mr. Smith.

"Mr. Watson. Good evening. We have a problem."

"Yes?"

"The housing inspection notice arrived yesterday. It seems I need to tear down your flat because a significant amount of radon was detected in the soil."

John couldn't believe his ears. He stuttered.

"What?...How?"

"Actually I might need to demolish the whole building."

Flabbergast, John groaned.

"What should I do? It isn't easy to find a place to live in."

"I know and I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Mr. Watson. Maybe you go and read newspaper ads in the library?"

Mr. Smith wiped his face with the handkerchief. John was stunned, not knowing what to say. His landlord rattled off grievances about the red tape, injustice of the notice, and his back luck – why his property, God. The landlord flipped his file.

"I'd like to meet you and my other tenants this Saturday at the Coffeeholic café. You know the place, don't you? How about two o'clock?"

John gave a terse nod, getting a headache.

"Well, I need to see the others. See you then, Mr. Watson."

John heard creaks of the stairs under heavy footsteps of his landlord. Sighing, he closed his door.

* * *

The next day, John came across Lestrade. He had been sitting in the library nearby, poring over real estate ads for almost a day. He could've tried online, but the connection at home was painfully slow and he hadn't bothered to open his notebook at home. In addition, he liked flipping pages of the newspaper – an old memory flickered back in his mind – the old flat, Sherlock and his boredom. He used to read it every day to find anything interesting for his flatmate. Smiling sadly, he turned his attention to next newspaper.

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind, making John jump. He turned back to find the smiling face of the DI. Lestrade. He said he had been investifating robberies in the neighborhood with one victim in critical condition. Sergeant Donavan was there, too. She gave a small smile to the doctor after murmuring something like it's good to see you fixed - she had met John at Sherlock's "grave" for a couple of times, sharing their version of guilt. Soon, Donavan excused herself, leaving two men in the library café. Over coffee, John asked how Lestrade was doing and the DI was gleeful.

"Now, Sherlock's back and assist us from time to time, we've cleared out ten cases including three cold ones in the past four months. He's a God-send…"

John put two sugar sticks in his cup and stirred it. Putting on a mask of indifference, the doctor stated.

"So Sherlock's back as a consulting detective?"

"While you were in the hospital, his help had been sporadic and off-site - he refused to leave your hospital for more than one hour so I had to send Donavan with files and data to the hospital. In fact, she volunteered for the job to my surprise. She's showing a little more respect to Sherlock so it's gotten easier. She doesn't call him Freak anymore."

Lestrade sipped his coffee. Glancing at John's cane, he asked.

"How are you? You're off the clutch, I see."

"Good. I'm almost good as new. I use a cane only when I have to walk a lot."

"So what's up?"

John had to tell the DI his imminent trouble. Lestrade shook his head and spoke.

"That's news to me. Do you want me to check for any bureaucratic mistake? You know, miscommunications or false reports…."

John shrugged.

Lestrade remembered the afternoon about three months ago, when the doctor was released from the hospital. Sherlock always had come to crime scenes alone: everybody stared at the tall lanky guy in a dark coat without his side kick, the short blonde doctor. He knew that John had refused to move back to the old flat.

"Why don't you go back to Baker Street? The door is open as far as I know. Mrs. Hudson dusts your room every two days – I heard it from Sherlock. He normally doesn't give a damn on such trivia."

John snapped at his words.

"You don't understand, Greg. I won't."

However, the doctor wanted to move back to 221B. John drank the rest of his coffee, missing the old days. He secretly admitted it: his life was dull and boring. He wanted to feel alive - to be stimulated with a surge of adrenaline. Nowadays he was having a different kind of nightmare: solving cases with his previous flatmate, roaming through the city only to wake up and realize they were dreams. Hours of seeing patients at the practice made his legs itchy for a run. However, he felt awkward around Sherlock Holmes. John Watson wished everything could be just like the old days, but life didn't work that way.

He realized that Lestrade stopped speaking and kept staring at him. The DI hastily crumpled his cup and tossed it in the trash bin. His voice got lower to almost a whisper.

"John, I've known you and Sherlock since the study in pink. I've never seen better chemistry between two human beings. You know why Sherlock had to fall and as you said, there is a reason behind what he does. Call him or visit him. Talk it out! If it takes you to punch that guy, please, please, do it for me. Without you, he's a pain in the ass…I mean a God-send pain in the ass..."

Lestrade continued cautiously.

"From time to time, Sherlock looks so lonely: I've heard him calling out your name in crime scenes since he came back. Then he freezes for a few seconds, and then leaves the place, ignoring the rest of us. "

John stuttered.

"Greg, I've got a job, a new life. Even if I came back, nothing would be the same. Sherlock wouldn't understand the change."

The DI sighed and tapped the doctor on the shoulder.

"You can move into my house temporarily until you find a new place. You're welcome all the time."

John smiled his thanks.

"You know, my wife and I got a divorce a few months ago. I just moved into a new flat, much smaller one but I think it'd be comfortable enough for two people."

"Oh, I didn't know, Greg. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm much better now. Freedom!"

Grinning, the DI waved his good bye to John and left. John remained there in partial relief - it was strangely pleasing to know that his former flatmate slipped his name out at crime scenes.

* * *

It was almost impossible to find an affordable and convenient flat on such a short notice. After days of searching, John gave up: there was not enough time before the deadline. He had to ask Greg for his favor and the DI welcomed it with open arms. On the day before his moving, the doctor was tired of packing things. It was almost July and the sky was blue with speckles of white clouds. Locked inside his flat, John felt as if he were suffocating. All of a sudden, he couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted some air out of London. He bought a wreath of roses and then caught a cab. Lestrade was supposed to visit to help his packing in the evening so he sent a short message that he would be out for hours.

The cemetery looked so different, maybe due to the seasonal change. It was green with flowers and birds. How different it was since the last time he visited here . Sherlock Holmes was alive.

_Did they remove Sherlock's gravestone?_

He could see the black marble still standing. He stood in front of it, looking back on his visits in the last two years. He was angry at his former flatmate for not trusting him. Then his anger made him feel belittled because he had to appreciate what Sherlock had done – otherwise, he would've been killed. Mycroft, when he visited John in the hospital, summarized what Sherlock had been doing overseas. John understood because he was also a soldier: the detective was on a mission, a lonely one that only he had to carry on. Still he wondered why he wasn't a part of Sherlock's scheme of faking the suicide. Yes, Greg and Mrs. Hudson also didn't know. The rest of the world didn't, either. Only three people knew the truth: Sherlock Holmes, his brother, and Molly Hooper. John was angry at the older Holmes and Molly secretly just because they had known the truth. Well, Mycroft deserved his anger but not Molly. He felt especially sorry for Molly: he made a mental note of buying Molly lunch after his move.

He laid the roses in front of the marble and muttered.

"Isn't it stupid of me to bring flowers for an empty grave?"

"Yes, indeed. John."

A familiar low voice… He turned around as a tall lanky man walked out from an angel statue nearby. Sherlock Holmes. He stopped 6 feet away from John. Their eyes met for a minute.

"John."

Something snapped. All the emotions started to swirl and boil inside him. Before he realized it, the doctor was yelling at the top of his lungs.

"You bastard! How could've you done that to me! You made me watch you jump. All these years, pretending to be dead... No calls. No texts… 18 months! You can't imagine what I had gone through. "

John didn't know what he was yelling. His body trembled uncontrollably. He shouted himself hoarse while Sherlock just waited until John let it out.

After a lot of cursing and yelling, silence was more deafening.

"Say something, Sherlock. Justify why you did it!"

The doctor alread knew the reason, but just wanted to vent off his anger. Sherlock, the bloody senseless git, filled the silence without hesitation.

"For your own safety, you had to believe my death. "

He added infuriatingly.

"You're tough, John Watson. I knew you'd get over my death, not that it was an easy thing to do."

John closed his eyes, feeling light-headed and dizzy. John felt a flicker of anger: he had been broken like a ragged doll since the fall. Two simple sentences couldn't be enough for the 18 months before he saw his former flatmate alive at the pool. Then he smelled it, a cigarette. He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock taking a long drag. Sensing John's disapproving eyes, the detective shrugged and spoke.

"The only comfort available in the past years..."

John couldn't help it. He snatched the tobacco from the detective's hand and snubbed it out with a glare. Sherlock looked thinner. Apparently he must have been ignoring Mrs. Hudson's "mothering".

"In addition, there was no one to play _Cluedo_ or hide and seek with over my secret supply."

John began to laugh, which soon changed into hiccups accompanied by sobbing… Sherlock gazed at John for a few moments and spoke slowly.

"You were why I didn't give up. There were so many times that I wanted to put everything down, assume a different identity, and disappear. It could've protected you, too. "

Sherlock continued while John tried to calm down.

"I was officially dead... A new life under a new name would've been easy… I couldn't give up my old life because I had to come back."

_Sherlock_ held out a tattered piece of paper from his pocket.

"To 221B."

John unfolded the paper gently and recognized his list of 26 wonders. His eyes started to burn again when he read the last sentence: _**John Watson** lives there_. –SH.

"John."

The sleuth hesitated and muttered a word by word with difficulties.

"It's just... not right... without you."

With a grimace, he added.

"I'm not an easy person to find a flatmate for..."

"Sherlock. I'm afraid."

Blinking his eyes, John hoarsely confessed at last his deepest fear from the changes that had occurred since Sherlock's fall.

"You're not be who you were. I'm not who I was. I have a job, a life as a doctor. I can't be your full-time blogger."

"Totally understood."

"And, I might snap at you over trivia…until I forget the past two years since you were gone."

Sherlock simply nodded. The emerald blue eyes met John's puffy and teary eyes. John wiped off the tears with his sleeves. The doctor knew that the past two years must have been as hard and lonely to his friend as it had been to himself.

"I don't think I'd be able to live through the stunt you had pulled at Bart's again... I can't even meet eyes of your brother and Molly..."

Sherlock sighed.

"There won't be any. I had promised you four months ago."

"You know Lestrade had told me to talk it out with you. He actually "egged" on me to punch you."

The detective snorted at this.

"Ah, Inspector Lestrade. He's so pleased to have me back."

"Back as the world's only consulting detective?"

Sherlock nodded and added rather hastily as if he realized something.

"Not the same without you..."

Two men stared each other for a moment, and the doctor shook his head with a small grin.

"I must be foolish to do this... "

John's mobile alerted an incoming text.

_Are you back home? GL._

John took his mobile out and called Lestrade to apologize for the change of plan: he was going back to the 221B. Lestrade sounded so thrilled and relieved on the other side of the line. The two men walked out of the cemetery - John was holding the tattered paper tight. They caught a cab and headed to Angelo's to have dinner. While John was using the toilet, Sherlock took out his mobile and sent two texts.

_Thanks for library talk. SH_

_Anytime. Any broken nose? Lol. GL._

_Thanks for talk with Smith. SH_

_You owe me five cases. Until next time. MH._

Sherlock sighed at this. He deleted the texts before John returned to his seat. The doctor smiled to see Sherlock calling Mrs. Hudson and telling her John's moving back. The landlady cried over the news and hung up abruptly to fill up the refrigerator upstairs for the other boy.

That night, John Watson booted his notebook, took a deep breath, and typed a new entry.

"Life still goes on."


	2. Chapter 2

This is a spin-off story connected to Sherlock's reunion: it's much better if you read Sebastian Moran's Journal (chapter 3, 4) and Life still goes on together.

I've ran out of story topics. Any ideas, please? (non-slash, not angst ones...) Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome.

* * *

Mr. Hudson heard the door shut with a bang. Sherlock must've headed out on the DI's call. She sighed and walked upstairs to John's bedroom slowly. Her hips were screaming in protest yet she ignored it. Entering the clean, bare room, she opened one of the windows; dusted the bedside table and windowsills; aired the bed and folded the duvet right back; made the pillow plump again and put it nicely near the headboard of the bed. It was her ritual every two days. Four months had passed since John visited her flat last time. While cooking lamb chops and apple pie, she had been so confident that her two boys would move in like the old days. That afternoon was so sweet, one of the rare memorable moments in her life. However, she was so wrong - John didn't stay as she had expected.

A few months after Sherlock's funeral, John moved out: he had been kind to her, always asking how she was doing when he called her twice a month. Shortly after, a new tenant moved in her building. Sebastian Moran whom she had met in Sherlock's funeral was an okay fellow, always paying the monthly rent on time. Unlike John, he was aloof, preferring to be alone to hanging around. John and Sebastian knew each other – they had met in a Bereavement UK meeting before. Sebastian also had lost someone special like John; both had been in the army. John and Sebastian seemed to grow their feelings into a friendship over months until Sebastian suddenly moved out. Sebastian vaguely promised to contact her later, but that was the last time she saw her 221C tenant. John stopped calling her after a short call to ask if Sebastian had left any forwarding address or new mobile number – Sebastian's phone had been disconnected.

What a pleasant shock it was to see Sherlock alive and well! He wasn't dead at all. She heard familiar violin music upstairs and thought she was losing her mind – she was hearing things. She ran up the stairs, completly forgetting her hips; passed the empty sitting room; and opened the bedroom door where the sound was from. She was petrified for a moment, mouthing some words like a stupid fish and grasping her chest –Sherlock was tuning his violin. With sheepish smile, he put down the instrument on his bed and stepped closer to her. He was saying something stupid like "I'm not dead, Mrs. Hudson." She smacked him twice with all her might and then cried over joy; it didn't take much for her to forgive him. Sherlock followed her into 221A. Despite his nonchalant face, he seemed to be pleased to be back. She poured tea for two, and was about to start her "interrogation", but her mouth opened in shock when he told her that John was in a critical condition, involved in a case. Something fell in her stomach although the detective assured the teary landlady that John would pull through. He promised to visit John together when the doctor's condition got stable.

For a while Sherlock mostly stayed in the hospital even though John was in the ICU. Sherlock moved back to 221B when John's condition was stable enough to allow a visit. She had another tea with the detective, interrogating him about John's condition. Since then Sherlock came to his flat only to change his clothes. Mrs. Hudson visited John for a couple of times, the first time with Sherlock. The brief visit was frozen in silence except a wisp of smile of John when the landlady held John's hands, crying. The eyes of the doctor looked happy to see his ex-landlady back. What tore her heart apart was not John's condition but the awkwardness between her two boys – they barely met their eyes and John uttered out short replies like yes and no when he had to. Sherlock was not exactly daft at social interactions so the visit ended up with glares between the doctor and the detective. On the way back, she chided Sherlock for his impatience, elaborating how John had suffered since the "suicide." Sherlock grunted, but said nothing. The next time she visited alone; John was much better and friendlier. It was her old John again when he almost smiled at her story of smacking the detective. At her questions of his feelings, the doctor just said he couldn't think right that moment; he didn't want to know why and how Sherlock had faked his death; he felt betrayed by the two men that he had called friends; and he couldn't figure out how he should react at the return of his flatmate. Something had sapped out of the doctor - John didn't care anymore. He looked so old and tired.

On the day of John's release from the hospital, Mrs. Hudson saw her last chance: she had barked at Sherlock in the morning, threatening him that she would double the rent unless the detective brought back John by lunch time. Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly had been already waiting when her two boys appeared on the doorstep. At least the lunch itself was a success with everyone having a good time, except Mycroft who hurried out after a phone call from his office. To her dismay, John didn't stay after the lunch. She heard the stairs creaking with thumps of his clutch, followed by a bang of the door.

Without John, it seemed nothing had changed about Sherlock. He often came very late, working on his cases alone. He glared at her when she tried to put away Billy – he needed it for his brain to function properly (given John's absence – he didn't say it but the landlady knew). He neglected eating and started smoking again; he abused his violin in the middle of the night. The kitchen table was overflowing with experiment tools, the old microscope, and papers. He had bought a small second freezer for his body parts but never bothered to put its plug into power outlet. It seemed he stopped bringing home cadavers, which was very welcome by the old lady – no need for a plumber. That didn't mean the main refrigerator was serving its own purpose because the shelves were literally bare except a couple of sauces.

About a month ago, she brought a tray of tea and John's favorite biscuits upstairs and made Sherlock sit down with her. She had just finished a long phone call with her cousin, Maggie Dwight – her cousin had to move out because the soil around her flat was dangerously contaminated with radioactive radon. Her cousin's whining and complaints were like a broken record player that kept on skipping, and Mrs. Hudson wanted to talk with anyone but her cousin. Sherlock looked already bored when she started complaining about Maggie, but he didn't dare to interrupt her. She was in the middle of the story about her unfortunate cousin when Sherlock stood up abruptly with his eyes twinkling.

"Mrs. Hudson. You're the best!"

He almost danced around the totally befuddled landlady, and then ran outside, grabbing his mobile phone next to his full, untouched teacup and shouting out in excitement at his brother on the other side of the line.

A couple of weeks later, Mrs. Hudson was watching telly when her phone rang. It was Sherlock- she expected some bad news like his being shot or cut. To the contrary, it was unexpected, too-good-to-believe news: John was to move back the next morning. Her face was a mixture of joy and tears when she hung up the phone; she had to fill the bare shelves of the refrigerator for her other boy, who at least had more respect to eating. While she was rechecking the contents of the refrigerator upstairs, she noticed that the new small freezer's been plugged to power. She shrugged and hurried to the grocery market.

That night, Mrs. Hudson heard a bell. She opened the door to find Sherlock standing outside with bags in his two hands. She smiled at him, thinking that the detective must've gotten something nice for his flatmate.

"Sherlock, I had already done the grocery shopping. You've got two milk bottles, cheddar cheese, some bread, apples, cucumbers, butter, bottles of orange and apple juice… I pinned the receipt on the board... Teas, biscuits and jams are left untouched in your pantry."

Sherlock answered with a look of annoyance to be bothered at such mundane daily trivia.

"These are for the second freezer."

"You aren't saying…"

"Back from Bart's. All of them fresh!"

Sherlock grinned at his dumbfounded landlady before he hurried upstairs, dangling the bags along.

"Home should be like home, right?"


End file.
